


don't want anybody else

by mixtapestar



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Universe - No Beast (The Magicians), Getting Together, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Season/Series 01, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 06:42:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28559277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mixtapestar/pseuds/mixtapestar
Summary: "Look, Q. There's really no easy way to say this," Eliot says, looking serious. Quentin's breath catches in anticipation. "I can hear you when you masturbate."
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Comments: 20
Kudos: 96
Collections: Peaches and Plums Stockings 2020





	don't want anybody else

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheAudity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAudity/gifts).



> Shout out to Rubi for beta reading. If you recognize the lyric the title comes from, yep, it's that song.

Quentin has always been quiet. Growing up, his parents were very much in the camp of "children should be seen and not heard," and anyway he found it easier to deal with people just by staying out of their way.

It helps him, in a lot of ways. When you stay silent around smart people, they tend to think you understand what they're saying, and act accordingly. It's not hard to catch up most of the time, and he saves himself the embarrassment of having derailed the conversation.

Sometimes, it's a pain in the ass. He's gotten better at interrupting people when they deserve it, at a volume that actually counts as an interruption, but it's still a work in progress.

But there are other areas where he's always been quiet, and as time goes by, he realizes he doesn't have to be. Quentin has been living at the Physical Kids' Cottage for a week before he realizes—he has his _own room_ now. And in theory, he knows how to put up wards to dampen the sound for any prying ears outside. He has privacy, he has good lube, and _he doesn't have to be quiet_.

He's a little nervous, casting the warding spell for the first time, so he waits until it's fairly late, and he's pretty sure no one is up and moving about the Cottage. It's a Tuesday, anyway, so at least there are no wild parties. Though that would help obscure any noise… 

He knows he needs to focus. The main thing he's taken away from his lessons so far is that concentration is key. It's just—focus is kind of hard to hold on to when he's half-hard thinking about how Eliot had crafted a drink just for him at dinner, and left his hand resting between Quentin's shoulder blades as he waited for Quentin's opinion.

It's really no surprise that Quentin botches the casting the first time. Something pulls in his chest, just for a moment, but then it eases, and Quentin assumes the failed magic has dissipated. He huffs, focuses on a grid of sound-trapping magic, tries again, and feels the magic take hold successfully. Just to be sure, he holds up his fingers in a Mann Reveal, and sure enough, he can see the criss-crossing lines throughout the room that mean he can be as loud as he wants and no one will be the wiser.

Knowing this, he slides his hand over his dick, letting himself moan at the relief of _finally_ touching himself. His face heats at the rasp in his voice, but it's good. No one can hear him. And if anything, it makes him feel sexier.

It's been months since he's had proper alone time. He's tired; he should've gone to bed hours ago, but he doesn't want to rush this. He digs the lube out of the unpacked duffle bag under his bed, strips from the waist down, then triple-checks the lock and his wards before getting comfortable on top of the bedsheets. He slicks up his right hand and pumps his cock slowly, his mind instantly recalling that picture of Eliot with his lingering hands, imagining them elsewhere.

"Oh yeah, _fuck_ ," he murmurs, getting used to the sound of his voice. Every sound he's made during past hookups has always sounded so artificial; maybe this will help his responses in sexual situations come more naturally. He whines a little, imagining asking Eliot for it harder, and then tentatively whispers, " _Harder_."

He tightens his grip then, imagining Eliot obliging him, smirking down at Quentin. He recalls Eliot asking after his opinion of the cocktail. _How do you like it?_

"Just like that," he says, feeling brazen, and accompanies it with a very satisfying moan. God, is this what he's been missing out on, all these years? He lets his mouth hang open as he works at his dick, sounds escaping him when they feel right. He cups his balls in his other hand, starting to get lost in the fantasy, picturing Eliot's hands all over him. "Feels so good," he says, turning his head in toward the pillow, stroking himself hard and fast. He had wanted to stretch this out, maybe edge himself a bit, but with his mind full of Eliot, he can't make himself hold back. A moan spills from his mouth as he feels himself getting close, and he lets that push him over the edge, crying out loudly as his orgasm rips through him.

As he comes down, flushed, breathing heavily, he can't help but feel weirdly proud of himself. He's on his own, off at magic school where he's set up his own magical wards, and he's actually happy. Okay, maybe being shut up in his room, fantasizing about a beautiful, unattainable housemate is nothing new, but at least there's progress.

***

Quentin only sleeps a few hours, but he wakes up wired, ready to face the day. He bounds down the stairs to the kitchen, about to call out a happy greeting when he realizes he’s just walked in on Eliot thoroughly scolding Todd.

Todd squeezes past him out of the kitchen, giving him a sad little wave on his way out.

"What's got you so grumpy today?" Margo asks Eliot as Quentin pours off-brand Bee Holes into a bowl.

"I got woken up by something in the middle of the night, and you know how it is. Once you're up, _you're up_." He glares at Quentin, who quickly averts his gaze to avoid Eliot's wrath. He digs through the fridge until he finds the chocolate milk, then drowns his cereal in it.

He doesn't stick around to hear Margo's advice about how Eliot could've gotten back to sleep. He's in too good of a mood to let Eliot's grumpiness affect him.

His good mood lasts for nearly a day a half—a pretty good record for Quentin. And it's no great surprise who brings him down.

Penny finds them in the cottage, where Alice is helping Quentin with a transmutation spell he just can't seem to get, and Eliot is pinning up Margo's dress for alterations. "Come with me," he demands. "We're running an errand for Kady."

Quentin exchanges a worried look with Alice. They can't exactly say no, after Penny and Kady helped them contact Alice's brother, even if it ended with him boxed. Eliot scoffs, and Margo doesn't even bother to do that. "I think you mean _you're_ running an errand for Kady. Leave us out of it."

"You shits owe me. I saved all of your asses when Fogg found out about the black market sex potions at your house last week."

Which is how Quentin finds himself crammed into the backseat of a sedan next to Eliot, whose legs can barely even fit the space. Margo seems to fit comfortably on his other side, and Alice has the coveted passenger seat up front. He has no idea why they have to be piled into a car when there are portals scattered throughout the city, but arguing with Penny is so exhausting.

The plan, such that it is, seems to involve stealing back something of Kady's that was stolen by a group of hedge witches. It doesn't seem to be more detailed than that. In the end, they only pull it off because it turns out Alice has history with Marina, who Eliot calls "Hedge Bitch in Charge". The item in question is a giant staff, which they're eventually allowed to take back out in exchange for something of Alice's that Quentin doesn't hear.

The staff is so large that they have to angle it in the car, from Alice's knees up front to the space above Margo's shoulder in the back. Quentin finds himself with even _less_ space than he'd had on the ride over, pressed up tight against Eliot's side, desperately clinging to his mental wards so that Penny won't know what he's thinking.

"Another harebrained scheme accomplished," Eliot says as they re-enter the cottage without Penny. "Let's celebrate." He moves toward his makeshift bar, expertly pulling out liquors and mixers.

"I'm um, just gonna go to my room," Quentin says, then darts off before he has to explain himself further.

He tries not to give in; he really does. Without Eliot in sight, he figures his hard-on will diminish, but no amount of focus on his spellwork seems to be doing the trick. Quentin's pretty sure he can still smell Eliot's cologne, and that's certainly not helping. It's been maybe ten minutes, and his heart still thrums when he thinks of Eliot's leg pressed snugly against his throughout the ride back.

He closes his eyes and lets his hand fall gently over his half-hard dick over his clothes. He imagines Eliot needing to stretch out in the car, his hand falling in between Quentin's legs casually. Maybe it would be an accident, but then he'd feel Quentin's dick responding and squeeze a little out of curiosity. Quentin moans as he squeezes, ineffectually pumping himself through the thick material. In his head, they're still in the car, but no one can hear them. He grinds into his palm and murmurs, "You can touch me."

He pops the button free of his jeans, unzips, and then rubs himself over his boxers, as if waiting for the right moment. He imagines Eliot's heated gaze on him, watching Quentin as his mouth falls open and he pushes his hips up into the friction of Eliot's hand. " _Please_ ," he whispers, and then reaches inside the slit of his boxers to close his hand around his cock.

It's a little incongruous; he imagines Eliot's delicate, long fingers would feel different closing around his shaft, but before long it doesn't matter, as he slicks up his palm and starts rutting up into his grip, grunting at the friction.

The structure of the fantasy falls away before long, as he shoves his jeans and boxers off for more freedom of movement. He settles back into the same position, though, imagining Eliot back beside him, reaching down to roll his balls together while his other hand strokes him roughly. "Yeah, _fuck_. You can go further," he pleads, stretching out a finger to rub over his entrance. He's too close to keep at this for long, but he suddenly needs something inside to clench down on. He slicks up his other hand and works his middle finger in carefully, slowing his movements over his cock so he can make the feeling last. He manages to calm down enough to get two inside, just the right amount of stretch to have him moaning and gripping desperately at his cock.

"Yeah, _yeah_ ," he whines, bucking his hips, lost in the fantasy. "You feel so amazing. You're gonna make me come, _ohhh_ ," he cries out, fingers brushing over his prostate and sending him over the edge, coming hard over his stomach. He keeps stroking himself, muttering encouraging nonsense to the imaginary Eliot as he rides out his pleasure.

He gives himself a few minutes to enjoy the feeling, but eventually spells his body clean, pulling his clothes back on and giving himself a quick once-over in the mirror before going back downstairs to hopefully join the celebrations. Once there, however, he finds Margo and Alice alone at the table, no sign of Eliot.

"Where's Eliot? I thought you guys were celebrating."

" _We're_ celebrating," Margo says, tilting her glass toward Alice, who rewards her with a small smile in return. "Eliot fucked off upstairs not long after you did. We had bets on whether you were together. Guess I lost, huh?"

Quentin flushes. "He definitely wasn't with me."

Margo shrugs, promising Alice she'll pay up later as she shoots her a wink. "Here, you can have his drink," she offers, pushing it over. He joins them and pushes down on his disappointment that Eliot isn't there to celebrate with too.

***

Even though he should probably be studying, Quentin decides to spend his Saturday in the common area of the cottage, doing some reading for fun. This works out well enough, until Margo and Eliot come over, sitting on the couch closest to Quentin's and gossiping loudly about Eliot's latest boy of interest.

Quentin makes a valiant effort to focus. He even finishes the chapter on sentient trees with relative ease. But despite his best efforts, Margo's voice eventually cuts through his concentration. "Are you gonna fuck him?"

Eliot hums in consideration. "Maybe. I haven't decided. Maybe I'll let him blow me first, see what he's getting into."

"Ooh, good idea," Margo says.

Quentin white knuckles his book while he imagines Eliot manhandling the new guy—Mike—to his hands and knees. Fingering him, pushing his way inside. And oh fuck, he needs to get out of the common area before he has a major problem on his hands.

He stands up so abruptly he drops his book. "Q, honey? You okay?" Margo asks, her voice the quintessence of concern.

"Fine, just." He picks up his book hastily. "Remembered something. Gotta run."

Inside his room, he has to stop and take a breath, running over that interaction before finally deciding there was nothing too weird about it. He's clumsy; it happens.

It takes a minute of digging, but finally Quentin finds the dildo he'd tucked away into his backpack when he visited home to grab a few things his parents wouldn't have known to ship over. It's as thick as he remembers, and he shudders a little as he wraps his fingers around the shaft, the silicone warming under his fingers. Yeah, this is what he wants today.

Since he has nowhere to be for the rest of the day, he takes his time stripping down, working himself up with his hands over his nipples, his thighs, his cock. He dribbles lube down onto the toy and his cock, fisting them both together and rutting up into his grip, enjoying the slide of it.

He's already breathing heavily by the time he reaches back to start teasing against his hole. He can imagine Eliot just going for it—or maybe Quentin's just eager—so he doesn't tease long, easing a finger inside and whining at the irresistible thought of more.

"Yeah, work me open," he breathes out, rubbing up against the dildo as he shifts to slide in two fingers. "Oh fuck, yeah, that's good," he says, tilting his head back. One day soon he should probably evaluate his obsession with fantasizing about his unattainable friend, but right now it's helping him get off better and better each time, so he can analyze his actions later.

He moves the cock languidly over his own cock as he starts fucking himself on his fingers, imagining Eliot working his hips in anticipation of getting inside him. He eventually drops the toy so he can angle his hips up, pressing his fingers in deeper, moaning at the stretch and slide.

He gasps at the sensation of three fingers, taking his time easing them inside. " _Ohhh_ fuck, you're gonna fuck me so good," he says, eyes closed as he wriggles his hips. He strokes his cock slowly, holding himself back from really going for it, as he relaxes into the stretch. His breath catches as his fingers stroke over his prostate, but it's almost too good, the sharp pulse of pleasure that washes through him. He changes the angle of his fingers, trying to keep himself back from the edge so he can enjoy the feeling of his toy filling him up while he thinks of Eliot against him, doing the filling.

When he can't wait any longer, he shifts his pillows around further, propping his ass in the air and brushing the toy against his entrance. He bites his lip and works his hips, letting the head of the dick slide from his balls to his crack, imagining the slickness it leaves behind as precome; Eliot so hot at the idea of fucking him that he’s leaking all over. He pauses to add more lube, holding onto the fantasy as he relaxes again, lining up the dildo and pushing the tip inside, his gasp morphing into a moan as it impales him. "Oh god. Yeah. Fuck me, El," he murmurs as he takes more of it, picturing Eliot holding himself as still as possible to make sure Quentin can take all of him.

Three images keep playing in his mind's eye on a loop. One of Eliot after he'd tasted what he described as "the most perfect salmon roulades ever crafted", his head tilted back and his throat working as he uttered the most shameless moan. The next is somewhat incongruous: Eliot's face as he worked out a particularly complex spell, his teeth nibbling at his bottom lip, his eyes narrowed in concentration, all of his energy focused on one single thought while he moved his long, agile fingers so precisely. Quentin closes his eyes and pretends that he's the one thing that Eliot is focused on. The last image probably has no business popping up in a sexual fantasy, but it's when he felt closest to Eliot: when he'd looked at Quentin across a patio table and said, "You are not alone, here."

It's that intent gaze that he imagines when he pushes the toy in all the way, so that its base rests against his ass. He takes a deep breath as he adjusts to the full length, imagining his moan is Eliot's as he clenches down over it.

"You feel so good," he says breathlessly. He cups his hand over his cock, gasping and taking himself in hand. "Yeah, fuck me," he says, working the toy out of him, slamming it back in, grunting as he starts fucking himself on it while he strokes his cock desperately. He gets a good rhythm going, shaking the bed as he moves, and then finds the _perfect_ angle, crying out as the head of the toy hits him just right. "Fuck yeah, Eliot, make me come," he shouts, grinding down onto the dick as he jerks himself hard, cresting over the edge and riding out his orgasm, overwhelmed by the sparks of pleasure cascading through his body.

He leaves the head of the toy inside of him even after he's spent, closing his eyes and finishing out the fantasy. He's too sensitive to keep riding it, but he can picture Eliot driving in deep, chasing his release alongside Quentin's, staying inside until the grip of Quentin's ass is too overstimulating. It's only then that he slides the toy out, sagging against the bed, completely sated.

Eventually, he tuts out the cleaning spell, vowing to get a shower later, then reaches for his sweatpants perfunctorily before sliding underneath the sheets and letting himself drift off in his fucked-out state.

***

He wakes up to a pounding. At first, it's in his dream, in his head, but then he wakes up enough to realize it's at his bedroom door. After a lazy call out to say he's on his way, he opens the door to find Eliot there, his eyes wild, his clothes wrinkled, and his hair more tousled than Quentin's ever seen it.

"Eliot, what's up?" Quentin asks, rubbing his knuckle into his eye.

"Look, Q. There's really no easy way to say this," Eliot says, looking serious. Quentin's breath catches in anticipation. "I can hear you when you masturbate."

Quentin chokes on air. "Excuse me?"

Eliot slips inside and shuts the door, which Quentin figures is a small mercy. "I don't know what it is. I can't hear you any other time. But when you're in here, hot and heavy, I can hear every noise that comes out of your mouth as if you were right next to me."

Quentin's face heats up lightning fast, running through everything he just said with that dildo inside of him. Everything he's ever said.

Eliot frowns. "I could be wrong. It's happened three times. Have you gotten off three times in the past week?"

Quentin stares off to the side of his shoulder, still turning over the reality of the moment in his mind. Eliot's giving him an out, he knows, but he's not a good enough liar to take it. "Yeah."

Eliot sighs. "Look, I know I should have said something sooner. I honestly thought it wasn't real." He stretches his fingers out, and Quentin hates that he fixates on the length of them, even now. "The first time, I was practically still asleep. The second time I thought maybe was a hallucination. I'd been sampling some of Hoberman's newer concoctions. But just now…"

"I said your name," Quentin says, realizing. " _Jesus_."

Eliot nods. His voice is soft when he continues. "That didn't necessarily rule out the hallucination theory, but the timing was a little too suspect." Quentin's mind is in a whirl; he doesn't know what he's supposed to say. Eliot, however, has mercy on him. "It's probably just a blip in your wards. If you were distracted when you put them up, maybe—" He holds his hands up in a Mann Reveal and makes a triumphant noise after a moment. "Right there," he says, pointing. "If you take them down and make new ones, it should solve the problem. I can do it, if you want—?"

"No, _god_ no. I will solve this myself. Not that I don't trust you, I know I'm the one that fucked this up, I just—"

"No, I get it. I really am sorry, Q." He swallows, drawing his lips together before nodding slightly to himself. "I know it's not remotely the same but, if you wanted to, you could watch me. The next time."

Quentin's mouth starts watering immediately, and he swallows thickly. "Watch you?" he manages to squeak out.

"It'll be a little weird, I know. But I mean, we could throw an illusion up, so I couldn't see you. It'd only be fair."

He hates how much he loves the idea. "What about Mike?"

Eliot shakes his head."I'm done with Mike, regardless of what your decision is here. I don't like to be anyone's consolation prize, and I doubt he does either."

Okay, well _that's_ something he's gonna have to turn over in his mind later, when he can think straight again. "Can I think about it? I mean— _god_ , not like _think about it_ —" He goes to cover up his face, but Eliot reaches out to stop him.

"Hey, don't be embarrassed. I know, it's hard not to be, but we all do it. And if you don't mind my saying so, you're really fucking sexy when you do it."

Something stirs inside his chest, something a little bit depraved and gleeful at the thought of Eliot hearing him and getting hard. "You're just saying that because you feel guilty for listening in."

"I feel guilty for listening in without your knowledge and permission. But I don't feel guilty for getting off on it. It would've been near impossible not to. The _sounds_ you make."

He almost can't breathe for a moment, he's so torn between embarrassment and arousal. Thank god he just got off. "Okay, god, you have to go now, please—"

"Sorry, I'm going. Just—think about my offer? It might make you feel better."

"Yeah, I will," he promises, and shuts the door tightly before taking a deep breath. _Fuck_.

***

Despite his answer, Quentin tries _not_ to think about it for as long as he can, which turns out to be five days. Five days without touching his cock, five days since he tore down his old wards and put up new, definitely better ones, but still he's too nervous to try.

He's been avoiding Eliot—and Margo too, he's sure she knows by now—but at this point, he just feels miserable. He misses his friends.

He tries to tell himself it's no big deal. So Eliot heard him get off. They were pretty good orgasms, when he can manage to recall them without the stain of humiliation. Good enough for Eliot to get off too, if he was telling the truth about that.

It's not that part that bothers him—it's actually kind of hot when he thinks about it a certain way. No, it's how _needy_ he must have sounded. How obvious it must have been that Quentin was one significant look away from creaming his pants as far as Eliot was concerned. It's so much worse than Eliot just finding out Quentin has a crush. And the thought of his 'offer' being made out of pity… it's more than Quentin can stand.

So he corners Eliot in the only private area of the cottage's first floor, by the bookshelves, telling him not to worry anymore, he's forgiven, they can be even and move on.

Eliot raises his eyebrows in clear disbelief. "You've been avoiding me for days, Q. My offer was not made lightly, you know. If you're interested—"

"I don't need to watch you masturbate to feel better about myself," Quentin says, cutting him off. "It doesn't work like that."

"Okay, sure," Eliot allows. But his look is fierce when his eyes meet Quentin's. "But what if I _wanted_ you to watch?"

Quentin swallows. "I don't— Why, uh, why would you want that?"

Eliot shrugs. "I like to put on a show, especially for guys I'm particularly interested in. And dare I say it, you gave me some ideas. It's not to make you feel better about yourself, it's more of me offering back a little of what I took from you."

Quentin frowns, dropping his gaze. "You didn't _take_ anything. It was my own dumbass mistake." But Eliot's words, the ones about 'particular interest', keep repeating in his brain, making him bold. "And I mean, if anyone had to hear me, I'm glad it was you."

"Yeah?" Eliot asks, and the air in the room seems to change, to get warmer. "You were speaking to me most of the time after all, weren't you?" he asks, voice low.

Quentin shudders, but he doesn't back down. He meets Eliot's fierce gaze with a ferocity of his own and says, "You know that I was."

"I really want to kiss you," Eliot says, crowding into his space. "But we should wait."

" _Why_?" Quentin says, frustrated.

"Because once you let me kiss you, my hands are going to get involved. And if you respond well to my hands, then it's not long before we're in actual hookup territory."

"So?" Quentin asks, loving the sound of that.

"So, the whole point of this exercise is that I'm supposed to get off thinking of you. And there's no way I'm going to turn down the real thing once I have it." Eliot worries at his lower lip. "I know you say you forgive me, but… this will make me feel better. Don't you want to see how desperate I am for you?"

 _Oh god_. "Yeah, okay."

He feels awkward following Eliot up to his room. He wishes he'd dressed in something more appealing than a t-shirt and sweatpants. But what _does_ one wear to watch their best friend masturbate?

"Stay there," Eliot instructs when Quentin gets to the doorway of his room. Eliot tuts out a spell that stretches into one side of his room, nodding after a moment. "Walk over toward the chair?" he asks. Quentin does, and Eliot nods again. "Perfect. The illusion will keep me from seeing you, which will make it easier to pretend I'm alone."

Quentin settles down in his chair, pulling his knees up as Eliot strips down. He isn't shy about taking in every inch of skin as it's revealed—Eliot's sharp collarbones that he's seen plenty of hints of, but never on full display, his long legs, shapely in his skinny jeans but even better bare, and _fuck_ , the notches in his hips that Quentin wants to push his thumbs into. Despite Quentin's unmistakable arousal, he feels incredibly wary, like at any moment Eliot is going to call the whole thing off. It would be a relief, probably. But he _really_ wants this to happen, too.

Eliot, on the other hand, seems to have no qualms. He drops down on his bed, fully naked, getting straight to business. He's already half-hard, maybe from their discussion earlier, or maybe from the idea of putting on a show. He pumps himself slowly at first, his long legs splayed as he strokes himself to hardness. Fuck, he really _is_ as big as Quentin's dildo. Maybe even bigger.

The way his mouth goes slack and he tilts his hips up makes Quentin want to touch his own dick, mirroring the sensation. He resists the temptation, though. He's not sure what the rules are, if there even are any, but right now he can hold off, focus on Eliot.

After going through the motions of the lube spell, Eliot's fingers move in the shape of a spell Quentin doesn't recognize at first. He watches in rapt attention as Eliot slides the pads of two fingers down his shaft, moaning and then murmuring, "Yeah, let me feel your tongue."

Oh, _fuck_. He recognizes the spell now, though it was taught as a way to keep your hands warm in winter, definitely not _this_. But combined with the wetness of the lube spell, he can imagine how it might be easier to imagine a tongue.

"You ready to suck me? Fuck, Q, the amount of times I've thought about your mouth." Quentin isn't sure if the last statement is addressed to him now or to fantasy-Quentin, but either way he can't hold back anymore. He has to touch himself. He shudders as he gets a hand inside his sweatpants at the same time that Eliot takes himself in both hands, fucking into the channel he's created and moaning wantonly. _Yeah, fuck my mouth,_ he thinks wildly, bucking into his fist.

"God, Q, you're so fuckin' hot," Eliot says, his voice getting more breathless and his strokes more desperate the longer he goes. "You make me crazy sometimes. Always, _fuck_ , sucking on your fingers, licking your lips, sucking the bottom one into your mouth while you're reading."

Jesus _fuck_. Does he really do that that much? He turns his head in toward his shoulder to muffle his moan, imagining all the times Eliot has watched him without his awareness.

Eliot's working himself hard now, his hands a blur over his flushed dick. "Yeah, suck me, just like that, oh fuck, _oh fuck_ —" he shouts, arching up off the bed and shooting into his fist.

Quentin grips the base of his dick, willing himself to calm down even as he watches Eliot writhe and give in to his own pleasure. _Fuck_ , he's gorgeous.

"Can you drop the illusion now?" he says after a moment, and Eliot does, drinking in the sight of him with a smile. Quentin knows how ridiculous he probably looks with his hand shoved down his pants and his face all flushed.

"C'mere," Eliot says, voice like liquid honey, as he does the tut to clean himself up. Quentin adjusts himself a little before standing up, moving tentatively into Eliot's space before Eliot grabs at his shoulders and pulls him fully onto the bed, bringing their lips together. Quentin moans against his lips as Eliot palms his ass. The kiss is better than he'd imagined, more intent, crowding out all of Quentin's anxious thoughts. Eliot pulls away enough to smile and say, "Thank you for indulging me. That was ridiculously hot, knowing you were watching me where I couldn't see."

"For me it was torture," Quentin says, rubbing up against Eliot's thigh to illustrate his point.

"Allow me to reward your patience," Eliot says, tracing his fingers over the outline of Quentin's cock. "Want me to suck you off?"

"Fuck," Quentin says, biting at his lip, suddenly hyper-aware of the movement as Eliot's eyes fall to his lips. "Yes, obviously, but. Just so that I'm clear, um. Is this like a one-time thing, or—?"

"This is an 'as many times as you want' thing. I mean, obviously we dispense with the theatrics and actually get off _together_ from now on, but yeah—I wanna be with you, whatever way you'll have me."

"Okay, well um. In that case, maybe just jerk me off? I haven't come in five days and I'm pretty sure I won't last long enough for a proper blowjob. And I do want to enjoy it," he adds, bringing his fingers up to Eliot's lips.

Eliot slips his tongue out to lick over his fingers as he reaches down, sliding his hand past Quentin's waistband to get a grip on his cock. Quentin moans; the heating spell must still be in effect, because Eliot's hand feels _heavenly_ on him.

"Oh god, _yeah_. _Harder_ ," Quentin pleas, almost losing it when Eliot sucks his fingers into his mouth at the same time. "Holy fuck, El, I knew your hands would feel amazing. You're gonna make me come—!" He cuts himself off with a gasp, his thighs tensing as Eliot strokes him just right, pulling him over the edge into a blissful state as he spills over his hand. He releases a shuddering breath as his body relaxes with Eliot still slowly working him over. He pulls his fingers from Eliot's lips and replaces them with his mouth, pouring all of his pent-up emotion into the kiss. Eliot responds in kind, humming sweetly into the kiss as his free hand slides into Quentin's hair. They're both smiling when they break away.

Quentin takes a deep breath. "I was maybe a little too horny to clarify earlier, but I'm hoping 'anyway I'll have you' includes 'boyfriends'."

"It does," Eliot says, grinning cheekily. "And as your new boyfriend, I have to say, I'm highly offended that you turned down my offer of a blowjob."

Quentin barks out a laugh. "I'll definitely take you up on the offer next time. I promise."

He tuts out the cleaning spell before he can start to feel uncomfortable, then lets Eliot pull him close for more kisses. He marvels over the fact that a distraction while putting up his wards eventually led him here. He's never been happier to have fucked up a spell.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are love! <3


End file.
